***
By evening, I’ve paced a groove into the entryway rug.
My grandfather’s house is massive, but tonight it feels too small for the weight sitting in my chest. I keep smoothing my dress, checking the time, walking to the door and back again like that might somehow steady my nerves.
The two men I love are about to meet. That thought alone makes my stomach twist.
“Mila, darling,” Papaw says gently behind me.
I spin around. He’s already dressed for dinner, immaculate as always, silver hair neatly combed, eyes sharp but gleaming with familiar fondness. He takes one look at my face and pulls me into his arms.
“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” he murmurs. “Relax. I promise to be on my best behavior.”
I laugh weakly into his chest. “Please do.”
The doorbell rings and my heart jumps straight into my throat. I take a deep breath and head for the door, barely holding myself back from sprinting toward it.
I open the door, and Andrei is there…dark coat, broad shoulders, calm confidence wrapped around him like armor. The sight of him steadies me instantly.
“Hi,” I breathe.
He smiles softly and leans in, kissing me slowly…unhurriedly. I sigh defeatedly, instantly melting into his arms. After he pulls back, he turns toward my grandfather and offers his hand.
“Good evening.”
My grandfather takes it. And everything changes.
I feel it before I understand it…the way Andrei’s smile thins just a fraction, the way my grandfather’s grip tightens, his eyes sharpening with something old and calculating.
“Mr. Popov,” my grandfather says calmly.
There’d been no introductions but he recognized him immediately.
My stomach drops.
I look between them, pulse roaring in my ears. “Wait…how do you two—?”
My grandfather releases Andrei’s hand and waves dismissively. “Later. Let’s eat first.”
I shake my head slightly in confusion but I know better than to ask questions now.
Dinner is uncomfortable even though Papaw tries to keep things light. He asks Andrei about work, about Los Angeles, about shipping routes and logistics in a way that feels far too pointed to be casual. Andrei answers politely, calmly, never once losing his composure. But his eyes flick to me more than once…like he’s checking on me. The room feels heavy with the weight of unspoken words.
By the time dessert is served, I can’t take it anymore.
“How do you know each other?” I demand, setting my fork down. “Enough of this.”
The room goes quiet. Papaw sighs and leans back in his chair. “You know I am avor,” he says calmly.
I nod. I’ve always known. Even as a child, I understood enough to fear the nights he didn’t come home on time. The injuries he brushed off. The meetings he never explained.
“I didn’t lead a syndicate,” he continues, “but I’ve always been…involved.” My chest tightens as old memories resurface.
“Not long ago,” he goes on, eyes never leaving Andrei, “I presided over askhodka. One where Boris Popov was sentenced to death. Andrei’s father.”
My breath leaves me in a rush.
I turn to Andrei, my head spinning with questions that don’t just make sense.